tioners."

There was a large china jar standing on the floor near the fireplace,
one of those ornaments which give their tone of sumptuousness to the
rooms in Beaufort's Hotel. Madame rushed at it and kicked it. When it
broke she trampled on the pieces. She probably wished to show the size
of the bits into which the business manager of Emile's ought to be
minced.

Gorman sought a position of safety behind a large table. He had once
before seen Madame deeply moved and he felt nervous. The king, who was
accustomed to her ways, spoke soothingly.

"My beloved Corinne," he said, "who is he, this pig? Furnish me
forthwith by return with an advice note of the name of the defendant."

The king's business and legal experience had taught him some useful
phrases, which he liked to air when he could; but his real mastery of
the English language was best displayed by his use of current slang.

"We shall at once," he went on, "put him up the wind, or is it down the
wind? Tell me, Gorman. No. Do not tell me. I have it. We will put the
wind up him."

"If possible," said Gorman.

Madame turned on him.

"Possible!" she said. "It is possible to kill a rat. Possible! Is not
Konrad a king?"

"Even kings can't cut people up in that sort of way," said Gorman,
"especially just now when the world is being made safe for democracy.
Still if you tell us who the man is we'll do what we can to him."

"He is a toad, an ape, a cur-cat with mange, that manager of Emile,"
said Madame. "He said to me 'no, I make no evening gown for Madame.'"

"Wants to be paid, I suppose," said Gorman. "They sometimes do."

"Alas, Corinne," said the king, "and if I give him a cheque the bank
will say 'Prefer it in a drawer.' They said it last time. Or perhaps it
was 'Refer it to a drawer.' I do not remember. But that is what the bank
will do. Gorman, my friend, it is as the English say all O.K. No, that
is what it is not. It is U.P. Well. I have lived. I am a King. There is
always poison. I can die. Corinne, farewell."

The king drew himself up to his full height, some five foot six, and
looked determined.

"Don't talk rot," said Gorman. "You are not at the end of your tether
yet."

The king maintained his heroic pose for a minute. Then he sat down on a
deep chair and sank back among the cushions.

"Gorman," he said, "you are right. It is rot, what you call dry rot, to
die. And there is more tether, perhaps. You say so, and I trust you, my
friend. Bu